Road to the Menoa Tree
by 4meyoga
Summary: Like most people, I wasn't very satisfied with the ending of the Inheritance Cycle, especially with some questions left to be answered. I'm no author, but this is my way of tackling one of the questions left at the end: what will the Menoa Tree ask of Eragon? Of course, it'll involve Arya. And Eragon...being immature just like in the books. Plan is for short story with 3 Chapters.
1. Wolves of the Mind

So this is the beginning of what I hope to be a 3 chapter series that will be done by the end of next week. I needed an excuse for Eragon to return so I used poor Roran. The plan is to include quotes from some of my favorite Eragon/Arya scenes in the book. A chapter on the inner workings of Emo-Eragon's mind. Of course, I had to throw in a little bit of reference to some of my favorite movies from last year: Lord of the Rings and Frozen.

**Chapter 1: Wolves of the Mind**

The leaves rustled in the winter breeze as the mournful gatherers bowed their heads and paid their respects upon the white tomb. The grove and the land surrounding it for miles was covered with inches of snow, but visitors from far beyond Palancar Valley had come to honor the great mortal hero of the War Against the Dark King. One by one, the individuals in the gathered crowd stepped forward before the grave. Flowers adorned the ground around the tomb, the bright colors a stark contrast to the white snow surrounding it.

Standing alone, a figure taller than the rest, his handsome features garbed in a long black cloak, his face covered by the hood around his head, leaned against a tree in the far back of the grove. His posture was casual, his breathing calm and even as he watched the ceremony from afar. He stood there with his arms crossed, a passive expression on his face, not showing even the slightest hint of recognition, let alone sorrow or pity for the deceased. His slanted eyes narrowed as he honed in on the words etched upon the stone.

Here lies Roran Stronghammer  
Beloved Hushand, Father, Grandfather  
Leader of the Palancar Pirates  
Feared by his enemies  
May he be remembered as loved by all else

"A fitting epitaph, wouldn't you say...oh Great Rider...", stated a sarcastic voice.

Startled, the tall, cloaked figure slowly turned toward the speaker. His eyebrows rose as he laid eyes upon an old acquaintance.

_Have you not known her long enough to refer to her as friend?_ The inner turmoil he was suppressing within his mind eased upon hearing the voice of his lifelong partner.

_No_, he responded, _she is far too...well, too much of an..._

"Angela." He said the name matter-of-factly. "Why am I not surprised."

"Of course not," stated the witch as she smiled, "I would hate to think all those years of isolation have made you dim-witted and ignorant of those around you."

He took no offense to her statements. "I have missed you as well," he jested.

She moved to stand next to him as she scoffed.  
"Oh, have you? 100 years have gone by and not a word. If that's truly how you display affection to someone, I have half a mind to dig up Roran's hammer and hit you over the head with it."  
He did not move from the tree and waited. Waited for the lecture that was sure to come.  
"I'm quite surprised to see you here," she continued, "At least today anyway. I would have thought you would come when all villagers have had their turn to grieve and the commotion has withered away. Or at least when the weather is a bit warmer." She shivered slightly and wrapped the brown coat she wore more snug across her shoulders as another icy breeze swept through the air.

Eragon raised an eyebrow at her statements. "You seem to be in a foul mood today. Is the weather truly bothering you this much?"

"How can it not be? Winter is ending soon, but it is easily the coldest day of the year. Apparently even mother nature is grieving over your cousin's death. The hobbits dare not even venture out to gather crops for second breakfasts. The poor things have had to survive on three meals on a day."

Curious, Eragon asked, "What are hobbits?"

She ignored him. "It is cold enough that even Elsa would approve."

"Elsa?"

She looked at him as if he was daft and mumbled, "Oh never mind...aren't Riders supposed to keep up with the latest news around here..."

_What in the world is she talking about..._the thought made Eragon smile for the first time since he landed again in Alagaesia a fortnight ago. _At last, one thing that hasn't changed._

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't realized Angela had resumed speaking once again.

"I apologize, my thoughts were elsewhere. What did you say?"

Angela rolled her eyes and prodded him forward with a stick of wood she found on the ground. "I asked if you were just going to stand there. Don't be such an Elf and pretend you have some emotions already. He deserves that much from you at least."

Guilt nawed at Eragon over those words. Eragon had communicated with Roran through the mirrors he binded with his own in his home far away from Alagaesia, but it was not enough to satisfy his desire to be closer to his only family. _Or her..._he thought. It never was. As he stared upon the trees in the grove, his thoughts began to wander from the conversation again. Distant memories of another realm began to form in his head... memories of an endless expanse of pine trees, spiraling butterflies, rosebushes in full bloom, gooseberry wine, reed pipes, angelic voices, beautiful, graceful elves. One beautiful, graceful, elf...

_Enough little one_, said the voice inside his head again. This was not the first time Saphira had to bring Eragon out of these reveries of his. She had a feeling it would not be the last.

Eragon forced himself back to the present and remembered why he was here. The funeral was fitting of Roran. If his memory served him correctly, his cousin would've been frustrated by the pomp and circumstance of Dwarven funeral rituals and no doubt would've scoffed at the customary beauty of Elven funerals.  
_Roran was a simple man_, thought Eragon. _This is as it should be. _

The guilt brought on by Angela's words continued to bother him.

_She is right. Am I not to feel more than this? I have yet to shed a tear. I stand here watching, but cannot join in their grievances. What has happened to me? How can I be so calm as I stand before the grave of my own flesh and blood._

A sharp wind once again blew across the land and the snow colored leaves below the tree he stood under fell from the tree. They landed upon his feet and formed a circle, similar to the petals of a flower. Eragon stood there, paralyzed and unable to turn his gaze away. Thoughts of a campfire and a single white lily formed under the stars...a beautiful lily from dirt...to white...to gold...thoughts again of _her_...

_She touched the petals again and kept glancing at the  
lily as she said, "Thank you. Giving flowers is a  
custom both our races share, but we elves attach  
greater importance to the practice than do humans. It  
signifies all that is good: life, beauty, rebirth,  
friendship, and more. I explain so you understand  
how much this means to me..."_

In the midst of his thoughts, he had not realized Angela had been staring intently at him for the past few minutes, analyzing him during his internal struggle to approach Roran's tomb. Understanding seemed to dawn on her and a look of sympathy crossed her face as they both stared at the shape of the white flower formed by the leaves upon the ground.

"Eragon...it does not have to be like this. Closing your heart to one does not mean you must close your heart to all." But still, he thought of _her_. Of the night blessed with spirits, _of her,_ as she said so assuredly...

_"It is always thus. The  
monsters of the mind are far worse than those that  
actually exist. Fear, doubt, and hate have hamstrung  
more people than beasts ever have."  
"And love," he pointed out.  
"And love," she admitted._

Love. There it was...He was young when he left. He thought he was love. 10 years into his stay on Aendir, the name he gave to the island he eventually settled, he still held hope that _she _would come and join him. 20 years later, they worked well together to rebuild the Order of the Riders, and still he held hope. 30 years and he had heard from the new young Elven riders that _she _was serving as a great ruler, her name already being held in high regard. 40 years and poems were already being written about her strength and leadership. 50 years and poems were written about her cunning and charms. 70 years and stories reached him about those charms combined with beauty. 90 years and he agonized as those poems began turning to rumors and those rumors became stories of romance. _ But not with him..._ He did not blame her. He was not a child anymore.

It began at the 30 year mark. He was a few years short of 50, nearly half a century old, though he bore the resemblance of a handsome young prince by human standards. He was still growing, but his mind had matured much faster than his physical attributes. His hopes of her joining him on Aendir began to fade and he became more realistic. As he trained more riders, he finally understood her sense of responsibility...her sense of duty. After all, what had she said when he was still a youth?

_"To us, a king or queen's highest responsibility is to serve _

_their people however and wherever possible. If that means_

_ forfeiting our lives in the process, we welcome the opportunity to_

_ prove our devotion to—as the dwarves say—hearth, hall, and honor."_

He understood. But it still pained him when the realization that she would not ever join him came to him. So he did the only thing he knew how, he distanced himself from her. Only discussing matters of the Order with her. They discussed official Alagaesian business, but when she attempted to speak to him about Aendir, he quickly changed the subject. She attempted to bring up Ellesmera and Firnen at times, but he changed the subject. Topics of Roran, Katrina, Nasuada, his hobbies, his pastimes, personal, personal, personal...divert, divert, divert. He isolated himself from his heart and devoted himself to his mind. Their conversations grew shorter and shorter. If she was offended by his actions, she did not know it. In fact, she seemed to embrace it. She became more curt with her responses and the colder she grew, the less he hurt.

_Or at least that's what you tell yourself_, Saphira stated as she felt obligated once again to take him away from his misery. _Little one...pay attention, something is amiss._

A sudden change in the atmosphere around Eragon snapped him once again out of his reverie. An chill blew threw the grove again and Eragon turned his head toward the crowd as they began whispering to themselves. Many of the gathered were now sneaking glances in the direction of where he was standing. He lowered his head in an attempt to conceal his face as he did before. Had his secret come out? Did they finally realize the leader of the Dragon Riders, Eragon Shadeslayer and Kingkiller had arrived to pay his respects to his one and only cousin?

Eragon attempted to concentrate his astute hearing upon the crowd and discern what had caused the excitement, but his ears led his direction to the surprising sounds behind him. The light stamping of hooves on the ground were the only warning he had before he turned his body, and his eyes fell upon a group of twenty tall and slender figures, their heads held high, as they approached on noble horses.

It was Angela who answered his thoughts, "Well, well, well...it appears the Elves have arrived."


	2. A Rider Does Not Walk Unnoticed

Sorry for the delay. Got busy with life. In this chapter: Eragon making bad decisions and running into trouble as always. Final chapter to be posted next week cause it will probably be extensive and will finally include the Menoa Tree and Arya.

**Chapter 2: A Rider Does Not Walk Unnoticed**

_Arya_ ... It was the first time he actively thought of her name. It came out almost as a gasp. Despite being in open space, Eragon felt as though he needed air. She was not amongst the assembled elves, but he needed to leave before the memories came back to haunt him once again. But he also knew that leaving now would only rouse the suspicions of the elves.

Eragon avoided eye contact with the elves as they approached the grave. They lithely climbed down from their horses and he took the opportunity to quickly alter his appearance during the few seconds they were distracted. It was fortunate he did because before most of the gathered could notice, the elves quickly flitted their eyes and scanned the crowd that had congregated. What they thought, they hid well; their emotions expertly masked behind stoic faces. Beautiful and ethereal were they. A few had long raven hair running down their smooth and unlined faces, but the majority of them had hair like starlight. There was no doubt the air of superiority they had amongst those gathered as they stood patiently, allowing the surprise of their arrival to subside. Eragon was familiar with two of the ten. Vanir, the young elven ambassador, and to Eragon's surprise, Däthedr, a Lord and member of the Elven council to Queen Arya.

_What is an elven lord doing here?_ Eragon thought quietly to himself.

Däthedr scrutinized the crowd longer than the others. It appeared he was searching for something... _or someone_. As soon his eyes passed over the spot Eragon was standing, Eragon let go of the breath he had not realized he had been holding. _ I have escaped detection...for now._

The grove was silent for what felt the longest time, the air tense and thick with curiosity and wonder. At last, as Eragon expected, Roran's great-grandnephew, Ronan, now leader of Carvahall stepped forward cautiously.

Lord Däthedr turned immediately in his direction and placed two fingers to his lips and bowed.

"Greetings Ronan, son of Ridler. Atra esterní onto thelduin," pronounced Däthedr in his smooth and lilting voice. If they weren't before, all eyes were on the elf now. "I am Däthedr and my companions and I have traveled from Ellesméra, among our other cities, to pay our respects to your great-grandfather. We bring greetings from Queen Arya and the rest of my race. The memories of his bravery on the battlefield still burn brightly in our minds and the vengeance he enacted upon the man who killed our late Queen will not be forgotten. If it pleases you, would you allow us the privilege of honoring Roran Stronghammer's memory?"

Ronan, his eyes wide and seemingly in awe of the striking figures before him, simply bowed his head and nodded.

_Däthedr did not declare himself to be a Lord,_ thought Eragon.

_Perhaps as to not draw to much attention to himself on Roran's day_, Saphira responded.

The elves gathered in a circle around Roran's grave and began their funeral ritual, normally reserved only for their own kind.

_This is a true honor, but I cannot stay. _

If word reached Arya that he was in Alagaësia, he would be expected to pay his respects to her as well, and his heart ached at the thought. Just as the elves planted a seed next to Roran's tomb and began their lamentful song, Eragon returned his appearance to normal and began to backtrack. He was about to turn and retreat to the room he had rented when he felt a hand upon his shoulder.

Angela looked to him kindly, "No good can come of this...you cannot avoid it forever, a confrontation shall happen eventually." Her hands remained on his shoulder for a moment longer and she gazed into his eyes and it seemed she was searching for the emotions she knew he was trying so hard to hide deep within his soul. He gazed back at her..._perhaps Angela is_ _right, I should probably_...

The sound of footsteps crunching on the leaves beneath them alerted them to the presence of a female villager passing by. The villager stopped and opened her eyes wide when she laid eyes on Eragon. They grew even wider as she took in the image of the two of them gazing at one another. Eragon turned to look at her just in time to see her blush and walk away.

Eragon rolled his eyes, "Great, thanks a lot Angela. I can only imagine the rumors that will begin now. I have done what I came to do, it is time to take my leave." Without another word, he left abruptly. _What a pitiful state I must be in, to garner sympathy even from Angela..._

* * *

Two empty pitchers of mead and a half glass of wine were the only things in front of Eragon as he sat at a corner table covered in the same dark cloak he wore earlier. He had grown restless in his room above the tavern and had decided to spend the rest of his night in the company of the villagers of Carvahall, albeit in a reclusive, round-a-bout manner. After uttering the words to transform his features and disguise himself again, he went downstairs thinking he would engage at least some of the patrons in conversation.

_These are, after all_, he thought, _descendants of my friends from long ago._ _I might as well enjoy myself before returning to Aendir_.

Upon encountering the large crowd of unfamiliar faces, however, a feeling of loneliness overwhelmed him and he eventually found himself downhearted and lonely, sitting by himself as he was now, doing nothing but, as was commonly said, "drowning his sorrows". He was in a wistful mood after the long day and allowed the alcohol running through his blood to place him in a trance-like state as he sat listening to the melody being played on stage.

"Reed pipes and golden harps. A strange combination wouldn't you say," a female voice behind him seemed to whisper in his ear.

Eragon looked up and turned his head. His eyes landed on the owner of the voice: a young woman, perhaps her late twenties, tall, slim, with long, bright blonde hair neatly tied with a band behind her head. She was adorned in a simple blue dress that matched the sky blue iris of her eyes. Her eyebrows were light and face elegant; the combination of that with her simple attire gave her a slightly whimsical look. Eragon could tell she was attractive, especially by human standards. And judging by the jealous watchful eyes of the men in the tavern, he was not wrong. Despite her beauty, however, Eragon found himself more intrigued than attracted. It had been a very long time since someone not elf or rider had dared approached him in such a manner, and he did not find her presence entirely unwelcoming.

Eragon took a moment to compose his thoughts due to the haze of the alcohol. When he did not respond immediately, the woman took it upon herself to seat herself across from him at his table. She gestured at a server passing by, "I'll have what he's having please...and another for him as well."

Her boldness surprised him, but he kept his face passive despite his curiosity rising to new heights. When he did not respond, she crossed her arms and eyed him from head to toe. Eventually, her eyes pierced his own, as if in challenge, daring him to remain silent.

Casually raising his glass and taking a sip of wine, Eragon finally responded. "I usually have to try harder to convince a woman to drink with me, or at least...they get to know my name first."

If she was offended, she did not show it. Rather, she threw back her head and let out a clear, soft laugh ,"I knew I'd like you...you will make great company tonight." Her voice was charming, sultry...enticing. The server returned with two glasses of wine and presented one to each.

The mysterious woman lifted her glass and offered it in toast, "Why waste time making problems when there are none to be concerned about? If fate wishes for a handsome man and a beautiful maiden wish to be together, if just for one night, what should stand in their way? The nights are cold this winter and I wish to be in the warm company of another. Cheers, I say, to what is to come..." She proceeded to wink and take a sip of the cherry wine.

Eragon found himself gazing at her as he felt himself drawn to her silver tongue and smooth words._ Confidence clearly does not escape her. Beautiful and she knows it..._

Eragon arched an eyebrow as he took a sip from his new glass as well. He felt the liquid coursing through his veins, boldness sweeping through his body with it.

"Will I at least be blessed to hear the name of this beautiful woman before we head upstairs?" The words left his mouth before he could stop himself and he nearly dropped his glass in embarrassment. His cheeks quickly became heated at his unintended attempt at flirtation. He shook his head. _The mead has addled my brain_, he thought quickly. It was time to stop this before it got out of hand. He tried to will his mind to form the words to the spell that would clear his thoughts, but found himself unable to do so. Instead, he watched his hands, as if he was observing as an outsider, raise his glass to his lips once again.

In his long years, he had never attempted to engage another woman in such a manner, except perhaps with the exception of...

"Katara. My friends call me Katara." She said simply as she watched him take another sip from his glass. Katara calmly placed her left hand on top of his right one, tracing the back of his palm with her fingers, and he made no move to stop her. She let out a triumphant smile...a smile that, to Eragon, held an undisclosed secret. A secret he suddenly felt compelled to unravel.

_Who is she...and what has gotten into me..._

He tried to snap himself out of what felt like a drug-induced spell. He quickly thought of Saphira..._She is out hunting and will not return for awhile_. Thinking he was safe in the comfort of his room, she had decided to fly farther to the north for better game.

He thought of Angela, but it was useless.._My head becomes even more addled trying to figure her out_.

He thought of his only other mortal friend from long ago that the void had not yet taken..._Orik. _Word of Roran's passing had spread even to Tronjheim and it had been Orik who had told him of Roran's he found himself becoming gloomy at the thought of the dwarven king. _It will be his turn soon as well..._

Pondering the situation he was in, he became somber as thoughts of his dear cousin and the conversation they held long ago in front of a campfire...

_"What is it that exists between you and Arya?...You dote upon her words as  
if each one were a diamond, and your gaze lingers upon her as if you  
were starving and she a grand feast arrayed an inch beyond your reach."_

Eragon took another sip of wine and laughed as he remembered the dejected response he had given Roran and the advice he received in turn...  
_  
"I'm sure you will meet another woman who will make you forget this Arya. There are countless maids—and more than a few married women, I'd wager—who would be delighted to catch the eye of a Rider. You'll have no trouble finding a wife among all the lovelies in Alagaësia...A wise man would ignore the future and drink and carouse while he still has an opportunity to enjoy this world."_

Eragon found himself laughing once again as he thought of his predicament; _I appear to be in the presence of one of these maids now._

And finally, he thought of Arya...of her request under the starry glades of Ellesméra long ago...

_"Relinquish this quest of yours—it will only bring you heartache—and find  
someone your own age to spend the long years with. You and I are not meant for each other."_

His anger flared as that memory passed and he felt the sudden urge to prove something. Reason seemed to have left him at this point. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he knew he should be suspicious of this woman and why she was so eager to have him to herself. In his current state of mind, her promise of a carefree night was far too tempting to ignore.

His thoughts turned bitter..._if that's what the queen wants, that is what her royal highness shall receive._

He came to a conclusion then and stood abruptly from the chair. Grabbing Katara's arm, he led her unprotested up the staircase in the back of the tavern and they walked the long hallway leading to his room. Now a man on a mission with something to prove, he retrieved a long silver key from his cloak and opened the door to the room. A single bed lined the side of one wall and Eragon felt himself being led backwards to it by an elegant hand on his chest. It was as his legs touched the back of the bed that he began to realize something was terribly wrong with himself. An image of the victorious gaze of the woman before him was the last thing he saw before his vision clouded and his consciousness drifted...

* * *

The creaking of an opening door and then its closing woke Eragon from his slumber. A sense of panic set in, as despite his best efforts, he found himself unable to open his eyes or move his limbs. His attempts at trying to speak were even more futile. All he knew was that he was lying on the sheets of the bed in his rented room with a blanket covering him to his shoulders.

What has happened to me? He was unable to cast his thoughts outwards or use his knowledge of the ancient language to cast a spell and rid him of his infirmary. His sense of smell and hearing seemed to be intact, however, as he was quite surprised to hear the voice of the person who had just entered his room.

_Lord Däthedr?_

"Draumr kópa," said the voice belonging to elven lord.

Eragon assumed a vision of the person Lord Däthedr intended to converse with had appeared in a basin of water somewhere in the room, and listened intently as Däthedr exchanged the traditional Elven greeting. He should have foreseen what was coming next the moment he realized Däthedr had been the first to speak. There was only one person all the lords and ladies of Ellesméra would greet in such an honorific way.

"You have news?"

The sound of her voice so suddenly shocked him to his very core. No magic was needed at this point to keep him lying still. Even after all these years, he found himself drawn and enchanted to her sound. It felt so right, so very familiar...a lilting melody imbued with the power of the ancient language that made both his heart race and his breathing still.

_Arya...you have spoken but three words and already I am a fool before you, _Eragon realized. Having known Arya for a hundred years, he prided himself in being able to decipher the intonations of her voice quite accurately. _She seems excited about something...hopeful almost..._

"We attended the funeral as you requested your highness. We were able to proceed without any unforeseen disturbances." Däthedr paused for a moment, almost as if he expected a response. When she did not, he continued, "And we were certain to convey your gratitude."

Eragon thought he heard her let out a bated breath.

"If this news is all that you have to deliver, was it truly necessary to contact me in this manner? Preparations are underway for the Agaetí Blödhren and my time for other matters has been quite scarce as of late." Her words came out sharp, almost like an accusation. Eragon could tell by Däthedr's hesitant next words that he was surprised by her tone as well.

"My deepest apologies, your majesty," he stated humbly, "but there is one more matter of importance I would like to speak to you in regards to. I was contacted during the night by Angela, the wise one. She stated that she was in need of my assistance immediately. She led me to this tavern and it was then that I came upon the man before me, only to discover he has ingested the nectar of the Yosemite plant."

_So that is what happened...I have acted a fool...the woman, the wine..._

It was Arya's turn to be surprised. "The sun is already beginning to rise. No one can survive the Yosemite plant's toxins for so long," she stated matter-of-factly.

"It is indeed deadly. However, with Angela's swift response and the spellcasters among us, we have been able to slow the poison's effects. The man's body and spirit itself seems reluctant to give in. He remains unresponsive and we have been unable to penetrate his mind and into his thoughts. His mental shields are impressive and he seems to have retreated even further than most to protect himself from the poison. But Angela has vouched for him...which is why I seek you now, your highness. I fear we have only managed to stall the inevitable; the antidote lies in the nectars of our rarest flowers housed in Tialdarí Hall. Angela has requested we bring this human to Alagaësia and grant him our favor. She has been quite...persistent. So I ask you now, my queen, how shall we respond?"

Eragon waited as he pictured Arya pondering the request. He was confident he knew her answer before she even responded.

"Bring him here and we will do what we can," she finally stated.  
Eragon couldn't help but inwardly smile,_ I think she dares not turn down Angela..._

"Now, if that is all, Lord Däthedr, I will take my leave..." Abrupt and impatient were not qualities Arya normally displayed. It sounded as if she had expected much more from this conversation.

"My apologies once again your highness, but if I may have but another moment of your time."

Arya did nothing to hide her exasperation this time, "Lord Däthedr..." she warned.

Eragon heard him clear his throat as he seemed to be working up the courage to say what came next. "I believe it was your other request that the ten of us keep our eyes and ears astute for happenings that may be of importance in the land...and the sky." He paused once again, waiting it seemed, for a hint from Arya as to whether this was where she wished the conversation to end up. She remained silent and so he continued, "During our journey to the funeral we, as you widely predicted, encountered the subtle hints that a dragon and her rider had taken the path to Carvahall not too long ago."

Her voice took up that hopefulness Eragon had discerned previously as her displeasure seemed to leave her at these words.

_They know I'm here!_ The memories of the distant past rushed over him as he remembered words from a conversation he once held with Arya...

"_A Rider does not walk unnoticed in this world, Eragon.  
Those who have the ears to hear and the eyes to see can  
interpret the signs easily enough. The birds sing of your  
coming, the beasts of the earth heed your scent, and the  
very trees and grass remember your touch. The bond  
between Rider and dragon is so powerful that those who  
are sensitive to the forces of nature can feel it."_

The Arya of the present jolted him back to reality, "Are...are you certain?" Her authoritve voice was hesitant, and it had softened almost to the point of vulnerability. _Am I imagining it?_ It made Eragon want to comfort her, to reassure her...of what exactly he did not know.

Däthedr seemed to follow the same line of thought as he did not hesitate to continue. "We were skeptical initially, but sometime last night Vanir spotted a dragon last night fly northwards. We have reason to believe they may be headed towards King Orik or perhaps the rider Murtagh. There have also been rumors he was indeed present at Roran's funeral."

"I am not interested in gossip Lord Däthedr. Have you found the source of these rumors?"

"A villager who swears she saw him standing … in close proximity with another."

Discerning Däthedr was hiding something, Arya impatiently stated, "Another?"

"Another," he repeated simply.

Eragon silently cursed at Angela.

_The elves have not changed, _he thought_, their conversations are still full of hidden undertones and their words filled with caution._

"He made no attempts to contact you?"

"If he did, we are not aware of it."

Eragon felt his body almost shiver at the sudden, but brief, icy chill that swept through the room...and her voice.

"I suppose it matters not. It is reasonable he would seek comfort from family in his sorrow. And from…_others_…" She stopped mid-sentence and hesitated before finally saying, "We will speak in detail when you arrive in Ellesméra in a few days time Lord Däthedr." She kept her voice formal and her words careful, and with that she ended the conversation.

Disappointment coursed through Eragon as he sensed her image flickering and vanishing from the basin of water and she was no longer in the room. But he did not have time to wallow in his pity as the stark reality that he would soon be in Ellesméra once again and in very close proximity to Arya alarmed him, and all at once Eragon felt himself exhausted, unable to stop himself from slipping back into his waking sleep...

Dreaming of once again dancing among woodland creatures in an endless expanse of trees, trees, and trees...


End file.
